


i'm here (i'm not letting go)

by ghostfaeries



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Character Death, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Sleepy Cuddles, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, Trauma, Well. Nightmares as a result of it, theres more fluff than angst fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29606385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostfaeries/pseuds/ghostfaeries
Summary: Tim woke up.The sight of his bedroom ceiling greeted him.The alarm clock on his nightstand told him it was 2:07 am.Tim curled into a ball and cried.~Tim has a nightmare. He seeks comfort in his dad's arms.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 11
Kudos: 220





	i'm here (i'm not letting go)

**Author's Note:**

> Dni if you ship batcest
> 
> Warnings: mention of death by illness (not specified or graphic)

Bruce was dead.

"Sudden illness," Dick said. "It was a matter of hours."

"The whole family was there," Dick said. "Where were you?"

Tim hadn't been there. He had been out with Kon, Cassie, and Bart, all the way in San Francisco. He had been hanging out with his friends while his dad was _dying_.

Bruce was dead and Tim hadn't even gotten the chance to see him one last time.

No, no, no, no.

Bruce was _dead_.

Tim opened his mouth, but nothing came out of it. He gasped for air, an invsible hand choking him and cutting off his breath. He fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. Dick was looming over him, his face distorting into an anrgy, disgusted snarl.

"Why weren't you there, Tim? Do you not care that he died?"

 _I do care!_ Tim wanted to scream, to yell, to cry. _I do care! I didn't know!_

More faces popped up. Jason. Damian. Cass. Alfred, Duke, Stephanie, Barbara.

Their voices joined Dick's, a twisted symphony. Their eyes filled with fury, glowing a dangerous green.

_**"You weren't there, Tim. What kind of son does that? You missed the funeral because hanging out with friends is more important to you than your dying father."** _

Cass walked up to Tim. She didn't say anything. She just shook her head, disappointment colouring her expression. She turned around and walked away into the darkness.

The others followed, one by one. Dick was last. He shot Tim a look.

"Bruce is dead, Tim," Dick said. "We were all there. Why weren't you?"

He left Tim with those words. Tim crumpled, alone.

Bruce was dead.

Tim woke up.

The sight of his bedroom ceiling greeted him.

The alarm clock on his nightstand told him it was 2:07 am.

Tim curled into a ball and cried.

They weren't sobs. These were quiet, contained tears. Tears that silently dripped out of his eyes towards the quickly soaking pillow. His hands had lost all strength and he could only grasp at the covers weakly.

It was a dream. Just a dream. Bruce was fine. He was fine. Tim hadn't lost another parent. Bruce was alive.

... Was he?

Yes, of course Bruce was alive. Tim had spoken to him a few hours ago, on patrol, before returning to his apartment. Bruce had told him goodnight. He hadn't been in San Francisco at all. He's been in Gotham the past week. It had been an uneventful night, so he'd turned in early. Anything could have happened after he'd signed off for the day.

Maybe he should check. Just in case.

Tim slipped out of bed, not even bothering to wipe away the tear tracks on his cheeks.

He put on his coat over his pyjamas and pulled on the first shoes he spotted – a pair of ratty Converse. He grabbed his keys, put on his motorcycle helmet, and drove off into the night.

Driving through Gotham at 2 am with blurry vision was a terrible idea, but alas, Tim never claimed to be a smart man.

Tim didn't remember much of the drive, only that he was suddenly standing in front of Wayne Manor, the stars glinting coldly in the sky up above. That should probably concern him, but, honestly, he had bigger worries right now.

He used his key to open the door soundlessly. Everyone should be asleep right now. The house was dark, but Tim didn't need his eyes to find his way. He knew this house like the back of his hand, he could navigate it blindfolded if need be.

He went upstairs, avoiding steps two and seven. They creaked; he didn't want to wake anyone up.

He made his way to Bruce's room. He tried to listen for breathing, but the wood was too thick to make anything out.

Or Bruce wasn't there. Maybe he _was_ dead, maybe Tim's dream had been right, maybe-

Tim opened the door.

There was a lump beneath the covers, steadily rising and falling.

Tim felt like he could breathe again, unaware his chest had constricted in the first place.

Bruce was fine.

The lump moved.

"Damian?" Bruce's sleep addled voice asked.

"No," Tim answered.

"... Tim?"

"Yeah. It's me."

Tim hesitated. He'd seen Bruce was fine. He should go.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Everything is fine."

Tim should leave. He'd gotten what he came for.

Tim approached the bed.

Bruce immediately lifted the edge of the covers in invitation, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Tim toed off his shoes and let his coat fall to the floor. He slipped into the bed. Bruce covered him with the blankets and opened his arms.

Tim threw himself at him with a choked sob. " _Dad_."

Bruce stiffened for a moment, then embraced Tim and started rubbing his back in soothing circles.

He didn't speak, just waited until Tim's sobs were reduced to sniffles.

"Whar happened?"

"You're real, right?" Tim asked, almost desperate. He reached out to touch Bruce's face. "This is not a dream?"

Bruce took Tim's hand in his and squeezed. "This is completely real," He promised. "I'm real."

"Okay," Tim whispered. "Okay."

Bruce kept holding him. Tim clung to him like a lifeline, refusing to let go of Bruce for even a second, lest he disappear.

"Sorry for waking you," Tim whispered into the dark.

Bruce brushed Tim's hair out of his face. "Shh, it's alright. You can always come to me, no matter the time of day."

Tim just nodded.

"What happened?" Bruce asked again. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

"Dream. I thought you were- You were-" Tim choked on his words, a new sob threatening to take over his body.

"Oh Tim, baby." Bruce hugged him tighter. Tim buried his face into his chest. The familiar scent of Alfred's detergent helped calm him somewhat.

Bruce was carding his fingers through Tim's hair. "Shh, it's alright, I'm alright, you're alright. I've got you." He kissed the top of Tim's head. "I've got you."

Tim clutched the fabric of Bruce's shirt, new tears steadily soaking a wet patch into it.

The tears stopped flowing eventually, and the tremors wracking his body calmed.

Tim pulled his face away from Bruce's chest to look up at his eyes. "Don't leave," He pleaded.

"I'm not," Bruce reassured. "I'm here. I'm not letting go."

"Okay," Tim sighed. "Okay."

"Go to sleep," Bruce said. "I'm here."

"Okay," Tim said again.

His eyes slipped shut. The rhythmic motion of Bruce's hand in his hair was like a lullaby, slowly rocking him into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> DC blog: autistic-damian-wayne  
> DC art blog: ghost-faerie-art


End file.
